Black Rose
by Nerva al'Thor
Summary: A young Wizard decides to take his specialization further as he is promoted into the Sorcerer job class. As his life sinks into despair, madness and crime, he discovers that there are paths best left alone and choices best left untaken. COMPLETED.
1. Part One

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PART ONE

He was in a somber mood, as usual. He sat there at the bench contemplating the colorful memoir that was his life, thinking and reflecting on every thought he could remember. Today…was probably the biggest—not to mention _pivotal_—day of his existence.

It was time to take his quest for perfection a step further. He was to choose today—choose his final and ultimate path. The choices had been laid before him yesterday by the Mistress.

Would he go for _White Magic_, the path of the supportive spells? The skills were fascinating, no doubt of it—but they rendered all his spells learned useless. The skills of a White Sorcerer could match those of a High Priest's, indeed. But…it seemed off…

Would he then go for _Black Magic_? Black Magic—the path of dangerous darkness in which there is no turning back? It offered a wide range of destructive spells—it had no space left for any support magic. It required extensive physical and mental sacrifice—but it also offered the possibility of wielding _Cosmic Energy_, Magic in its purest and most powerful form. But this path—

He sighed and looked at his bleeding hands. He watched as a droplet of blood gathered and swelled—glistening—and taking an eternity to fall. It fell to the ground with a soft and almost inaudible _flok_, the sound echoing in the room where he was alone, the sound bouncing off the walls.

He lay down on the floor, his eyes staring at the roof. What would his choice be? He knew what he wanted, all right, but the danger of what he wanted haunted his mind, ringing his conscience. Moreover, the Mistress had warned him about it. He could lose his sanity. He could lose his memory. He could lose his emotions. He could lose his soul.

A moth fluttered by, close to the light. Its wings caught fire. The flames quickly creeped to the rest of its frail body and consumed it, leaving only a few dark particles that were ashes. He mused—perhaps; the moth gave him a warning. A warning about the path he was going to take.

But he had this unhealthy knack of ignoring warnings…

He sat up, wincing a bit because of the pain on his hands. He reached up and caught a few strands of his hair between his thumb and forefinger. He had always wanted to conquer Magic's purest form—an attempt in which he hasn't succeeded yet. By taking the path of the darkness, he would be a step closer to this goal—this sole purpose of his life.

The Mistress appeared out of nowhere, her shining silvery hair falling around her. Her eyes lingered upon his battered form, taking on the blood, the fresh wounds and empty eyes. He faced her, his eyes listless as they had always been.

"Have you made up your mind?" she asked.

She held out her hands—and they contained two different spheres. In her right hand was a superb thing, shining and bright, representing the sincerity and goodness of White Magic. In her left hand was a dark and cold object, harsh and hostile, representing the evil of Dark Magic.

"Choose." She continued. "But remember that, once you have chosen, you can never turn back…your first and last chance…_now choose_…"

He swallowed painfully, his eyes on the white sphere. His heart ached for it, but his mind was bent on the dark one. Then his gaze switched to the dark one, the thing with shadows and nightmares swirling freely on its surface. Then he looked at the white sphere once more. It was so pure, so gentle…so…_good_…

The Mistress sensed the doubt in his heart. "Follow your heart, _because it knows what is best_."

He met her eyes. He could see his reflection in those soulful orbs. He broke the gaze and stuck out the tip of his pink tongue and wet his lips with it. He extended his right and forward, reaching…

His bloodstained fingers stopped some two inches from the white sphere. A slight frown appeared on the Mistress's face. He met her eyes, and transferred his hand to the dark one, his fingers closing in on it—making the shadows and nightmares swirl wilder than ever. He took it from her hand, this darkness…

"I hope you do not regret your choice…" she said sadly. "But hear me when I say this…Dark Magic is not necessarily evil…it is the path that you take to conquer it that is full of evil things, but not the magic itself. I pray that—whatever obstacles and problems you might encounter in this path you've chosen—I hope that you will not fall for them, that they will not corrupt you. Your heart shines with definite brightness, it shines of hope and love, of virtue and innocence. _I do not want to see that radiance die_."

And then everything—the room, the drops of blood on the floor and the Mistress—disappeared with a sudden rush of blackness.


	2. Part Two

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PART TWO

His friends had been pounding on his door for two hours now, shouting for him to come out. But his ears were negligent of their frustrated yells; he was concentrating—as he always have since that day—on conquering the dark sphere; to force it to crack and feed him the magic it held. Today he was using his previously learnt spells to destroy the protective barrier of the sphere.

"FIRE BOLT! FIRE PILLAR! LORD OF VERMILION!"

It was a futile attempt. His powerful spells did nothing except to make the sphere's barrier sizzle. But other than that, there was no damage done whatsoever. He fell to his knees; his eyes bulging to give him that maddened look as he stared at the sphere on the floor. He screamed in agony—and started to destroy his own laboratory.

There were loud crashes as he knocked down his bookshelves, his tables and his observation platforms. Bottles of potions smashed, their liquids mixing and causing thick dark clouds of smoke to emerge. Some of his books caught fire. He yelled yet again and grabbed the delicate instruments for potion making and hurled them to the wall, smashing them to bits.

The door gave way with a loud crash. His friends immediately rushed inside the room. The Lord Knight and the Hunter among his friends quickly restrained him. He struggled against the Lord Knight's nelson fiercely. The Priest was begging for him to stop—telling him that he shouldn't have taken this path—telling him that what he was doing was madness.

"GET OUT! LEAVE ME ALONE!" He yelled at them. "LET ME GO! LEAVE ME ALONE!"

The Priest quickly had a hand on his forehead. "I must Silence you now before you destroy yourself further!"

"NOOOOOOO!"

With a sudden burst of manic energy he was able to throw the Lord Knight off him. His hand quickly found the Priest's neck—his fingers closed in at once. The Priest gasped for breath as he lifted him a few inches above the floor. His other friends were panic-stricken. He was…_never_…like this…

"DAMN YOU!" He howled as he flung his Priest friend to the wall.

There were cries and gasps next. His friend had knocked head-on into the wall and lost consciousness. He turned to the women, who were now looking at him with horror. Grinning insanely he pointed his staff at them.

"Frost Diver!" he yelled triumphantly.

They didn't have the chance to get away. He threw back his head and laughed like a crazy man, his voice ringing in his laboratory. He scooped off the dark sphere from the floor and pocketed it. He smashed his window apart and made to escape, but he remembered something.

A small fire had started in his lab. He seemed to struggle with himself, but in the end he put it out with Water Ball before jumping from the window.

__

He didn't notice that the sphere's barrier cracked.

He knew he couldn't stay in Geffen anymore. It was easy to find him there. He had to go somewhere else—somewhere he wouldn't be disturbed. He had to leave Schwarzwald for another continent—he would go far—to Amatsu or Gon-Ryune maybe…

The sun's rays irked him for no apparent reason. He couldn't bear the heat and was angry with it. Was he going mad, then? Was he going mad like many Wizards before him—his predecessors who also tried to solve the mystery of the spheres?

But no, two people have managed to triumph over the spheres—to break their indestructible barrier. And now, these two hold the highest form of Magic in their hands. One chose White Magic—but the other chose the Darkness like himself.

He stopped in his tracks, his face suddenly illuminated by understanding. _What he had to do…the answers that he seek…_

He had to find them, these Sorcerers of renown…to find them and seek the answer to his puzzle…to his path…


	3. Part Three

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PART THREE

He'd been searching for them for five years now. In those years he wandered across every known realm of Midgard, searching and searching but he never found so much as the shadows of these people. He was running out resources, and despair had started to sink in. Sometimes, when he rested he took out the sphere and tried shooting it with spells. But it never succeeded.

He walked down the road, his shoulders drooping and his face hidden under the amulet of his Munak Hat. His staff served both as walking stick and channeling device of his powers. Where was he going now? He didn't know…he tried looking everywhere…asked lots of people…but still…_nothing_…

Sometimes he thought, _had he chosen the white sphere, would he be going through all of this_? Probably not. He would still have his friends for one. He would still have his sanity. He wouldn't be walking alone, mumbling wildly to himself. But then—breaking the white spear also required difficult things; if not, how come only person has ever conquered it?

Maybe the both the spheres had their different riddles. How long must he seek the answer to his riddle? He needed help—help from someone who had been there. And that's why he's searching…walking down innumerable lonely and deserted roads in the hopes of finding the Dark Sorcerer. One thing he was certain—he would not give up…he will solve this sphere, this persistent ball of nightmares and shadows until it gives him what he wants.

Was he regretting his choice, then? A part of him did so, yes—regretted very deeply. But another part of him wanted to persist—to remain with his choice to the end, until the very last drop of sanity leaves his mind. He missed a lot of things too—his friends, his quiet life as a Wizard—his _past_.

He fell forward in a faint on the dirt road. He was too weak to move on…he hadn't eaten anything for three days…now _that_ was funny…he actually _forgot_ to eat…

A black cat slinked out of nowhere from the brambles at the side of the road. The cat stopped, its tail raised high, then turned very slowly to face him, blinking its huge yellow eyes at him. He smiled bleakly at the cat—and it approached him cautiously, unblinking, its paws silent as it walked.

The cat stuck out a pink tongue—and started to lick his face. The grainy muscle flicked across his face several times and he let the cat do whatever it wanted to do with him. He was losing the will to live, he knew it. He just wanted to give up…save whatever sanity and clarity of mind that remained in him…

"Haah!"

The cat retreated five steps, still staring unblinkingly at him—_and turned into a man_. He gasped in amazement as the tail vanished, the face changed—and literally, how the fur turned into the unmistakable robes of a _Sorcerer_. He felt tears rise to his eyes as he gaped, ultimately dumbfounded.

The Sorcerer straightened up and brushed off dirt from his collar with gloved hands. He knew this Sorcerer—this man…he worshipped him! He knew him, oh my god, knew him so! He had been his inspiration—the very reason why he became one of the Arcana in the first place.

"Get up, boy, the road is not a nice place to sleep in." the Sorcerer spoke in a deep but clipped voice. "What is a Wizard like you doing here?"

He opened his parched lips to speak—he even reached out and touched the frayed hem of the man's robe. "M-master…I've been…searching…five years…you have no idea…_oh master_…"

His eyes widened. What is this? He could feel overwhelming Dark Energy coming from this man—energy so great that it'd be enough to destroy the whole continent of Amatsu in one outburst! Luck had pitied him at last—and led him to what he really needed—!

"You need help with your sphere, is that it?" the Sorcerer asked as it knelt beside him.

He nodded frantically—wildly. "Master…help…_Master Nerva…_"

The Sorcerer surveyed him with his piercing glare. "So you chose Darkness too, like the whole lot of them. _Did you choose it because it is really what you wanted—what your heart chose for you_?"

His lips quivered—and he started to cry like a boy. The Sorcerer's expression softened.

"You all make the same mistakes, don't you?" he said. "You choose something your _heart does not want_."

"Master…you have no idea…" he sobbed.

The Sorcerer rolled his sharp yellow eyes. "Of course I have. I have every idea you can imagine boy, because I've been there and done that. I guess I have no choice then…I'll have to take you with me."


	4. Part Four

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PART FOUR

He showed his sphere to the Sorcerer, who took it casually and surveyed it for an hour. He couldn't speak as he watched this walking container of Dark Energy pace in the dim-lit room. His energy had been restored, by the way…the Sorcerer used a spell on him that was very complex and unfathomable…but it worked nonetheless.

"Master…?" he asked tentatively.

All of his previous emotions had been replaced by insatiable curiosity. A million questions appeared out of nowhere as electrical impulses in his brain, coursing through his nerves—all waiting, waiting to be spit out of his mouth. The other half of his fevered brain knew how to control himself—he had to tread carefully—he was, after all, dealing with a _Dark_ Sorcerer.

"I can't help you." The Sorcerer spoke, thrusting the sphere back to his hands.

It felt as if his lungs had been suddenly devoid of all tiny particles of air. He blinked slowly as if he never understood, his lips half-open. The sphere in his hands swirled gently, and there seemed to be a faint buzzing noise that came out of it. _The sphere was mocking his failure—laughing at his face…_

"P-pardon…?" he said softly.

"I _can't_ help you." The Sorcerer said more clearly. "There is nothing I can do for you. The least you can do for yourself, however, is to return that sphere to the Mistress—go back to Geffen—and try to regain your life."

He was suddenly on his feet, his hands shaking as they clenched around the sphere—this damned object that cost him everything. This Sorcerer had no idea—_everything_—!

"I'VE WANDERED AROUND FOR FIVE YEARS JUST TO FIND YOU AND YOU TELL ME TO GIVE IT ALL UP?!" He shouted. "YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHAT IT TOOK JUST TO BE HERE! ALL I WANT IS SOME HELP!"

The Sorcerer stared coolly at him and replied, "What I have said to you is _help_. Pursue this pointless goal further and you'll end up like all of those who've come before you—mad, no sense of self, lifeless puppets without a soul."

"YOU—DON'T—UNDERSTAND—!" He screamed as he hurled the spear across the room, narrowly missing the Sorcerer's right ear by an inch. "YOU—STANDING THERE—YOU DON'T—!"

"It is _you_ who doesn't understand." The Sorcerer continued. "You _can't_ go into this path. You _can't_ continue because you have chosen what you don't desire—because you _lied_ to yourself. You think Sorcery is just picking up a sphere—taking the one who most appeals to you, but no, my poor puffed-up Poring, Sorcery is much more than that."

He clenched his hands into fists and stared at the sphere on the floor. The nightmares and shadows swirled ferociously again, gliding and slipping against each other. Anger rose in him now, anger for this man standing before him. He wanted to shoot him with spells, hurt him and make him take back all that he had said.

"The least you can do, however," said the Sorcerer. "Is go to _Louisa_."

"Louisa?" he repeated.

"_Louisa de Chardin_, Sorceress, holder of White Magic. It is the least help I can give you. You can find her not far from here—she resides in the city of Daema, near the Valkyrie Realm."

The Sorcerer transferred his gaze to the sphere and made it float back to him. He snatched it from midair and pocketed it.

"Go to Louisa." The Sorcerer went on. "But hear this—if she cannot help you, it best to go back to the Mistress and return that sphere. It is not yet too late for you to get back your life. Whatever Louisa says, obey it."

He couldn't answer. He knew he had to go to the Sorceress. He turned to leave, but he stopped halfway to the door.

"The Mistress told me…that once I've made my choice…I cannot turn back…" he said.

Nobody answered. He whipped around to see, but the Sorcerer was no longer there.


	5. Part Five

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PART FIVE

He considered it spitefully and carefully. If this Sorceress—this Louisa—would tell him to drop the sphere, he was not going to obey her. He had this Mistress's words on his side. _There was no turning back_. He will push on with his choice, no matter where it would lead him. He will show to them all that he will conquer this sphere—and force it to give him the power he seeks.

When he touched the Dark Sorcerer he felt what it could be like. All that power and energy in the palm of your hands. He felt it, the essence of Cosmic Energy, he'd felt it at that brief moment in which he touched the hems of the Sorcerer's robes. He wanted that kind of power. He wanted it. And he wasn't giving up until he can wield it, feel it coursing in his body—rushing in every fiber of his being.

__

And he will be the second Dark Sorcerer that Midgard will know…

The city of Daema was a week's journey from where he met the Dark Sorcerer. He was going on this journey…not because he wanted to—but because he simply _had_ to. Will he feel the same aura if he touches the robes of Louisa? Will he feel the same quantity of energy? Will the Sorceress have the same kind of power—so strong that he could almost smell it?

But he was torn…he never had unity of thought ever since this sphere came to him. Always a part of him wanted to stop before it was too late—and another part wanted him to push on. It was like having a second head inside your body—a second head that hasn't popped out of your skin just as yet.

__

Corruption…insanity…no sense of self…madness…existence as a lifeless puppet devoid of soul…

If the Dark Sorcerer triumphed over these things then surely, he can too. He will show the Dark Sorcerer…that he wasn't the only one who can conquer the black sphere…he'd show him…for sure…

He stopped on his tracks and looked up with awe. A High Priest in his entire splendor was walking down the deserted country road; a gleaming Solar God Helm perched atop his layered blue locks. The High Priest was whistling the Pronteran Hymn as he went, hands in his pockets. The high-level cleric noticed him gawping stupidly, and stopped walking.

"I'm sorry…so rude of me…forgive me…" he mumbled and with great effort clamped his jaws together. "I'm sorry…I didn't mean to _gape_ at you like that…"

The High Priest did not answer. Instead the man just smiled and walked up to him, reaching out godlike hands. He felt himself retreat—but the High Priest's warm and soft hands found his cold and dusty cheeks.

"_Recover Life Essence…_" the High Priest whispered softly.

A delightful feeling of vigor, strenght, warmth and fullness swept through him. He felt the color returning to his cheeks. _He…felt…happy…_

The High Priest let go and surveyed him with a smile. "May the Lord our God bless you, my son. I see hard times for you…very hard indeed. You take care of yourself now, all right?"

The cleric went on his way. He seemed to struggle with himself, but—

"Father!" he called out. "Father, please—can you Warp me to the city of Daema?!"

Daema, city of Valkyries, was probably one of Midgard's high-level places. It was a city in which all the powerful could be seen. It was here he found the long-lost legends—the Warriors who have left Schwarzwald when they had been accepted to the third job class. High Priests, Champions, Creators, Professors, Whitesmiths, Lord Knights, Paladins, Stalkers, Assassin Cross, Snipers—they were all here.

He felt small and insignificant as he walked the paved streets. Heads turned to see him wherever he went, and his ears caught the sound of whispers. Were they wondering who he was; what he was doing here? He suddenly wished he had a hat to hide his face.

He'd found a nice café and bought himself some food. He was busy wolfing down his buttered toast when the back of his neck prickled all of a sudden. He immediately sensed the presence of a tremendous power in the vicinity.

__

Could it be…her…?

He stood up and looked wildly around. There, standing some ten feet away from him, dressed in the familiar garment of female Wizards was Louisa de Chardin herself. She was looking at him, a mysterious smile on her lips.


	6. Part Six

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PART SIX

"Nerva sent word that you would come to see me," said Louisa. "But I didn't think you would be arriving here in Daema earlier than expected. I see you've met a High Priest somewhere?"

He nodded, too busy looking at Louisa to answer. He had never expected her to retain the robes of a Wizard; but it was clear that she was wearing her clothes only out of custom—that her real garments were just hidden away, waiting to be summoned. She was beautiful of course—layered blonde hair and wondrous blue eyes—and her every movement had a definite grace in them. An overwhelming air of energy and power came from her too, making the air reverberate. Though Louisa's energy was not as powerful as that of Nerva's, it was something to reckon with.

"Can I see your sphere, please?" she asked as she sat down before him.

He hesitated, but handed her the sphere. Louisa took it, and like Nerva before her, examined it silently in her hands. He felt thrilled—somewhere deep in his heart he knew Louisa was going to say something that favored him. He was anticipating this—his hunch had never been strong like this before—he wanted to hear her say it; hear her that he should go on with his choice and see it to the end.

Louisa's examination of the sphere took a surprisingly short time. She gave it back to him, a look of mild concern etched on her face. He sat there mutely, his heart thumping. _Say it…please say it…do not say otherwise I'm begging you…_

"I cannot help you with the barrier," said Louisa. "A Sorcerer must work his own magic to break his sphere's protection. However, you must be responsible for the choice you've made. I cannot say any more."

He felt a surge of triumph. Somewhere deep inside him he felt a pang of anger too. Why didn't the Dark Sorcerer help him? Was the idiot jealous—or maybe afraid?

"He didn't want to help me." He said suddenly, his hand tightening on the swirling mass of shadows. "He didn't want anyone else to become Sorcerer, doesn't he?"

Louisa surveyed him silently—and she shook her head.

"Do not expect me to know how Nerva's mind works." She said. "Nobody can know. But this I can tell you—as Dark Sorcerer he has his own views, and I am afraid the different specialization we took have created a impenetrable barrier between us. Like everyone he has his own pride, yes. But I know Nerva. I knew him ever since we were Magicians. He will not descend to an abysmally low level like what you speak of. He didn't choose to help you—I know not why. He has his reasons for that—but I am sure fear and jealousy aren't one of those."

He transferred his gaze to his sphere. "Why then? Why didn't he help me when obviously he knew the answers I seek."

"I cannot know, I am sorry." Louisa whispered, lowering her gaze. "I am sorry I cannot help you."

He thanked her and left. He had an answer now. He had the chance to push his quest further. He knew what he was going to do. He was going to destroy this damned barrier even if it was the last thing he did. He was just thinking of what to do next when he stopped in the middle of the road. He looked up and found the Dark Sorcerer there, standing in his path, hands in his pockets.

"So I see." The Sorcerer said. "_So I see…_"

His lower lip quivered—he wasn't sure what made him do it—he extended his hand, offering the sphere to the taller man. The Dark Sorcerer held out his own hand—and touched the sphere ever so lightly with his index finger.

The barrier cracked and exploded in a sudden gust of power and energy. He stumbled and fell backward, his eyes wide. The writhing shadows were free at last, and they shot into every direction like gruesome tentacles, flailing wildly. He screamed as the black mass found him and entered his body—it was pain beyond pain—he wanted to die, he couldn't bear it—

"You had the chance, boy." The Dark Sorcerer's voice sounded. "_You had the chance…_"

He couldn't see, couldn't hear and couldn't feel properly. He didn't know if he was still alive. All he had was his presence of mind, but apart from that—no, nothing. He felt a dull throb somewhere where his heart should have been. Everything had become a blur.

That was how the years—nay, centuries passed him by. As a blur. They were never clear. Not anymore, forever this time. He had the chance, but…


	7. Part Seven

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PART SEVEN

One thousand and fifty years had passed since he broke his sphere and let the magic enter his veins. Like Louisa and Nerva the magic had retained his youth and prolonged his life, but that was the only thing he could get from it. He could never wield his powers properly, and it was like that even after he destroyed the sphere's barrier.

He was in a worse condition. Ever since he had the power he suffered from an ailment—_a mysterious disease brought by magic and suffered by her wielders_. His body was being eaten away by something called Mana Failure—a sickness that brought high unstableness on the brand of magic one wields, and it had a gruesome effect at the motor and sensory neurons.

He couldn't cast his spells without taking horrible damages onto himself. There were times that his magic was so high and reactive that he tended to destroy everything he touched; or otherwise he felt very, very weak that he thought he was dying from it all.

Louisa tried to help, obviously, but her magic could not provide a cure no matter how hard she tried. Nerva wanted to help too, but he simply didn't have any space for any magical cure—instead he spent his free time looking up likely cures from his books or otherwise venturing to Daema and asking High Priests there if they could give even the tiniest help.

__

He was suffering…suffering because he pushed on, knowing it was not the path for him to take…and now he was reaping his rewards…

He was sitting atop the highest tower of the Sorcerer Guild's castle, a secret place found in an island that cannot be found on maps and globes. He was looking way out to sea, listening to the peaceful squawking of the seagulls and the melodious splashing of the waves against the steep and rocky cliffs.

His hands were bleeding again. His ailment was at its peak; thirty minutes ago his Mana went hyper again, this time giving him ultimate pressure sensitivity, so that everything close to him within a five-meter radius was crushed with tremendous pressure. He climbed up here on the rooftop to avoid more damages, and to his relief, his Mana calmed down again…

Louisa appeared out of nowhere and sat down beside him, looking more beautiful in her Sorcerer regalia. She merely looked at him with her clear blue eyes.

"The sea is calm," he said.

"Yes." She replied. "It is peaceful."

"I envy the waves." He said. "They could go up, reaching forever, trying their best to get to the mainland. Even if they fail and don't go farther than the shores, they persist still. They retreat…then attack…retreat…and attack…"

She did not speak, so he continued.

"I ask myself now," he went on. "Had I digressed, would I have to suffer like this? Had I taken the white sphere, would I enjoy things? Had I not harmed my friends and forsaken them, would I be lonely? Had I not pushed on…would I…be well…?"

Louisa could not answer. She dropped her gaze to the roof's tiles. He turned to her, his sunken eyes widening.

"I am in regret, you see." He told her. He wasn't even sure why he was telling her these things, but the urge to speak had not overwhelmed him like this before. "I am in very deep, painful regret. This ailment that slowly destroys me from within reminds me every second, every minute, every hour and every day. The pain it brings shatters my conscience and echoes reminders in my mind that, had I listened, I would have—I would have…"

"You knew what you were getting yourself into." Louisa whispered.

"Human nature," he said. "But…I had every chance…to turn from it…but still. Now I regret when it is too late, when there is nothing left for me to do but to wait until this disease finally puts out the flame that is my life."

A slight, cooling breeze blew.

"I'm dying, Louisa." He said sadly. "And it is my fault that I am dying. I killed myself. I've killed myself ever since I took that sphere."

And she knew it was true.


End file.
